


Happy Ever After

by likethenight



Series: My Heart Is An Empty Vessel [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Children's Stories, Doriath, F/M, Fairy Tale Style, Families of Choice, Family Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: Thranduil tells Tilda a story about a prince who was not yet a prince and a princess who was not really a princess. Much,muchlater, Tilda finally finds out who the story is actually about.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Thranduil (Tolkien) & Tilda (Hobbit Movies), Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife
Series: My Heart Is An Empty Vessel [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902442
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	Happy Ever After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/gifts), [friendoftheJabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendoftheJabberwock/gifts), [Tildatheflowergirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tildatheflowergirl/gifts).



> This has been kicking around in the back of my head for a while! The first part is set around chapters 75-80 (or thereabouts) of [My Heart Is An Empty Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197213), and the second part is set around chapters 15-20 (or thereabouts) of the completely canon-bending sequel [Break You But You'll Mend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419968), in which Bard, Sigrid, Tilda, and Maudie (Bard's wife) are re-embodied in Valinor. This story contains no spoilers to speak of for any unpublished chapters of either of those stories, but it does give us a look at certain characters' backstories, and a hint or two as to what Tilda did when she grew up. :D
> 
> Credit for the backstory for Thranduil's wife Auriel goes to my indispensable beta [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious), and her beautiful poem-drabble about her which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890615/chapters/65724106).
> 
> This one's for [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious), [friendoftheJabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendoftheJabberwock/pseuds/friendoftheJabberwock) and [Tildatheflowergirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tildatheflowergirl/pseuds/Tildatheflowergirl) \- I'm having a bit of a rough time at the moment, and your lovely comments never fail to cheer me up and encourage me, so this is for you, as a thank you. <3333333
> 
> (by the way, this definitely comes with a Tilda-warning for her weapons-grade cuteness!)

“Ada,” said Tilda, one summer evening, “will you tell me a story?”

They were sitting together in Tilda’s fledgling garden at the back of the big house at the top of the hill in Dale, enjoying the late sunshine as the sun slipped down the sky towards the horizon. The rest of the family were off doing other things, but Tilda had persuaded Thranduil out to see how her garden was getting on, and now they were perched on a chunk of rubble looking at her vegetable garden.

“Of course, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, casting about for a suitable tale to tell. He had stopped telling her stories of Legolas’ and Tauriel’s younger days, after her accident in the Woodland Realm, when she had almost fallen out of a tree, disaster only being averted by Tauriel’s quick reflexes. He had told her a few tales of the Greenwood of old, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he wanted to tell her some stories of his people. And then an idea came to him, a story he had not told in a very long time indeed. He shifted a little, getting more comfortable, and drew Tilda closer. 

“Once upon a time,” he began, “a very long time ago, there was a secret kingdom, hidden deep in a forest.”

“Was it yours?” Tilda wanted to know, and Thranduil laughed.

“No, pen-neth, it was not mine. It belonged to a great Elven King and Queen, and the Queen was not an Elf, but a Maia. Do you know what that means?”

Tilda shook her head, and Thranduil smiled. 

“Well, there is no reason why you should. The Maiar are the helpers of the Valar, and they are very powerful. The Wizard who was here during the battle is one, for example.”

Tilda looked up at him, eyes wide and mouth a round little O of wonder. “Really? But he looks so scruffy!”

Thranduil could not help a snort of laughter. “He does indeed, and I think it may be deliberate, so that nobody realises how powerful he really is.”

“I don’t suppose the Queen was scruffy,” said Tilda, and Thranduil laughed again.

“No, she was not. She was very beautiful, and the daughter she had with the King was more beautiful still. But this tale is not about them.”

“Oh,” said Tilda. “Who is it about then?”

Thranduil smiled; he thought he would try to tell the story without giving away who it was about, and see how long it would take for Tilda to work it out. 

“Well,” he said, “in the court of the King and Queen there lived a prince, only he was not yet a prince, and a princess, who was not really a princess.”

“Not really a princess?” frowned Tilda. “How does that work?”

“She was the adopted daughter of the King and Queen,” explained Thranduil, “but her mother was one of the court ladies, who did not want her, and her father was a member of another important Elven house, but one with a less than pleasant reputation. So _she_ did not want _him_.”

“What was wrong with him?” Tilda wanted to know, and Thranduil bit down on what he really wanted to say.

“He was not a particularly nice person, pen-neth. And he was bound by an oath he had sworn with his father and brothers, which compelled him to be hostile to certain others of his kind. But this story is not about him, either.”

“Good,” said Tilda, “he doesn’t sound very nice. Tell me about the not-a-princess instead.”

“Well,” said Thranduil, “the princess who was not a princess was very beautiful, and very headstrong, and very, very sure of herself. And she did not like the prince who was not yet a prince one bit.”

“Did he like her?” Tilda asked.

“Not particularly,” said Thranduil, biting back a smile at the memories. “In fact, he did not like her at all. He thought that because she was not a real princess, she was not worth his while.”

“Well, he wasn’t a prince, so I don’t know where he got that idea,” said Tilda, and Thranduil could not help the laugh that escaped him at that. 

“Perhaps you are right, pen-neth,” he said, “although he was very sure that he would be a prince one day, for his father was almost as noble as the King, and more than once he had spoken of founding a realm of his own.”

“That’s probably why the not-a-princess didn’t like him,” said Tilda. “He sounds very stuck-up.”

“Perhaps he was,” said Thranduil, who had come to this conclusion himself eventually, although he had long forgotten about it until he had begun to tell the story to her. “In any case, they did not like each other very much, but because they were about the same age they had to spend a lot of time together, in lessons and so on. And the not-a-prince’s friend was the King’s grandson, and so they saw even more of each other.” He smiled a little sadly. “And for a while, all was well and life was good in the hidden kingdom, for it was protected by the magic of the Queen. The King’s grandson married a beautiful lady - there are many tales to be told about them, too, but this is not one of them - and went to live with her elsewhere, and they had three children. But the King had become drawn into the conflict over the oath which I mentioned earlier, and through that he became involved in a quarrel with the Dwarves over a great and beautiful piece of jewellery.” He paused, knowing that he would have to be careful how he phrased the next part of the story, for he did not want to frighten Tilda, and besides, somehow telling this story was bringing back to him the sense of loss he had felt, all those millennia ago, when he had lost his King, whom he had looked up to so much in his youth.

“That sounds like you,” said Tilda, filling the sudden silence, and Thranduil blinked, startled. 

“What do you mean, pen-neth?” he asked, although he had a feeling he knew the answer.

“Well, you wanted your necklace back and the Dwarves wouldn’t give it to you until Da got it back for you.”

“I suppose so,” he said. “But I was more fortunate than the King, for I had your father to intercede for me, and to persuade the Dwarves to give me back that which I had treasured. The King quarrelled greatly with the Dwarves, and there was a terrible battle and an ambush, and the King was slain.”

“Oh,” said Tilda, “how awful. I bet everyone was very upset.”

“Everyone was distraught, especially those who had been close to him, of course. His grandson and his wife returned from where they had been living, for the grandson was now the King, and they brought their children with them.”

“What happened to the Queen?” Tilda asked. 

“She returned to Valinor, the Undying Land west of the Sea where our people may live out their lives in peace and contemplation, and I suppose she is still there, mourning her husband.” 

“That’s so sad,” said Tilda. “I hope she’s feeling a bit better by now.”

“The Undying Lands bring us comfort,” said Thranduil, although he was not at all sure they would do the same for him. “I am sure she has learned to live with her loss by now, and indeed it is possible that the King has been returned to her, for our people may be re-embodied when they have recovered from the sorrow of their death.”

Tilda frowned, confused. “Do you mean they come back to life?”

“It is possible,” said Thranduil.

“Why don’t they come back here?”

“I do not know, pen-neth. Although there is one who has returned, as it happens. He lives in Imladris with Lord Elrond, and you might meet him in the autumn. But,” he held up a hand, “this story is not about him, either.”

“Oh,” pouted Tilda, who had clearly been about to ask a hundred questions about this Elf who had returned to life. “Well then, I’ll just have to ask him when he’s here.”

Thranduil smothered a smile. “He might be very busy with the talks, but something tells me he might find time to tell you about his adventures. He does like to talk about them, after all.”

“Oh, good,” said Tilda. “I like stories.” She paused. “If your people can come back to life over the Sea, why don’t you go and see if your wife is there?”

Thranduil drew in a breath, feeling his heart clench; how many times had he asked himself that same question? But the knowledge that he had no guarantee that Auriel would be there had kept him here, confined him to his realm. “I cannot leave my people, pen-neth,” he said after a moment. “I have a great many responsibilities, and I cannot abandon them.” He smiled, and ruffled her hair gently. “Besides, now I have you, and your brother and sister, and your father, and I cannot leave you, can I?”

“Oh,” said Tilda, “I didn’t think of that. I’m glad you’re still here.”

“So am I, pen-neth,” Thranduil smiled. “Now, do you want to know what happened next to the princess who was not a princess, and the prince who was not yet a prince?”

“Oh, yes please,” said Tilda, clapping her hands. “What happened?”

“Well, before the King had his quarrel with the Dwarves, he had arranged with the father of the prince who was not yet a prince that their children should be betrothed. Of course, the prince and the princess were not at all pleased to hear this.”

“No, because they didn’t like each other,” said Tilda. 

“Indeed they did not. And the King’s grandson teased them greatly, saying that they were the two fairest in all the court, so of course they should marry.”

Tilda giggled. “I bet that went down well.”

“As a balloon might, if it were made of lead,” said Thranduil, struggling to keep a straight face again at the memory. “There were a great many outbursts, and the princess went to the King and told him that if he made her marry the not-yet-prince, she would simply fade away from grief and die - deliberately. For as you know, pen-neth, the only two ways for our people to die are for them to receive a mortal wound, or for them to fade away from grief.”

Tilda’s eyes were wide, and she gasped. “What did the not-prince do?”

Thranduil chuckled. “He sulked. For a very long time he refused to come out of his chambers, and even after that he refused to speak to the princess.”

“But what happened?” Tilda wanted to know. “Did they get married?”

“All in good time, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “For a long time they refused to speak to each other, and they both refused to consider the betrothal. But eventually, after much persuasion from their elders, they began to reconsider. The not-yet-prince began to admit to himself how beautiful the princess was, and how admirable she was, for her refusal to compromise, and her strength and determination. And the princess began to realise that the not-yet-prince was good-hearted, and noble, although he was somewhat conceited and a little bit full of himself, and he might perhaps become wise and kind, given a little time to grow up; for he was a little younger than she was.” He smiled to himself, remembering how it had slowly dawned upon him how remarkable Auriel truly was. “And so plans were being made for the wedding when the King’s quarrel with the Dwarves had its terrible consequences.”

“Oh,” said Tilda. “So they must have been sad twice over, once because of the King and once because of the wedding.”

Thranduil smiled. “They were very sad indeed, and for a time they did not like to think of the wedding at all, but at the same time their grief brought them closer, and they learned to comfort each other. And the princess knew that it had been the King’s last wish, to see her married to someone worthy of her, and for her to be happy. So a year after the King died, the not-yet prince and the princess were married, in the sight of all those who loved them, and it was the first cause the people had had to rejoice since the King’s death.”

“Did they love each other by then?” Tilda asked, and Thranduil smiled. 

“Not quite,” he said, “but they were no longer as opposed to the thought of spending eternity together as they had been when their betrothal had been arranged. And perhaps they could see the possibility of love between the two of them, if they did not yet begin to feel it.”

“Oh, well, that’s not too bad,” said Tilda. “At least they didn’t hate each other any more, because that would have been awful.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “I do not think they ever hated each other, pen-neth. But they certainly did not like each other very much when they were younger.”

Tilda giggled. “Did they argue a lot? Bain argues with Lotta all the time, but I think he likes her.”

“Does he really?” said Thranduil. “Well, it is not always a sign of such things, but sometimes, perhaps it can be. It certainly was for the not-yet prince and the princess. By the time they were married they were not arguing so much, and when they did it was more affectionate than it had been. And for a few years, all was well. The princess was a talented jewel-smith, and she made many pieces of jewellery for herself and for her husband, and he wore every piece she gave him with pride.”

“That’s nice,” said Tilda. “But you only said for a few years everything was all right. What happened?”

Thranduil sighed, remembering. “Another dreadful piece of ill-fortune came to the kingdom in the forest. The princess’s true father and his brother came in search of a jewel which their oath had bound them to find - it was this jewel, partly, which had been the cause of the quarrel with the Dwarves. The new King, the friend of the prince and princess, refused to let them have it, and so they attacked the city and destroyed it. The King and his wife were killed, their little daughter only narrowly escaped, and nobody ever found out what happened to their twin sons.”

Tilda gasped. “How awful. So it happened twice? That’s horrible.”

“Indeed it is, pen-neth. The not-yet prince and the princess escaped with the prince’s father and mother, and they fled across plains and hills, mountains and valleys, until they came to a place where they could found a kingdom of their own, a new forest that reminded them a little of their old home. And for a long time they lived there in peace with their new people.”

“Not happily ever after?” asked Tilda, frowning slightly, for this was surely not how the other stories she knew would have ended.

“Not quite,” said Thranduil, “for they had no child for a long time. And eventually there was a great war against the forces of evil, and the prince’s father - who was a King himself by now, because he had founded his own kingdom, so the prince was now really a prince, and the princess was really a princess - the prince and his father went into battle, and although they fought bravely, the King was slain. And so the prince had to become a King, and the princess had to become a Queen, and for a long time they mourned those they had lost.”

“Poor things,” said Tilda, “they did lose a lot of people. Did they ever have any babies?”

“Eventually,” said Thranduil, “they were blessed with a son, and soon after a foster-daughter, who in time became their adopted daughter, and the two children grew up together and were great friends their whole lives.”

“And then was it happily ever after?” Tilda wanted to know, and Thranduil hesitated for a moment; he had quite enjoyed telling the story in this form, and something in him wanted Tilda to continue to believe that it was a fairy story, or a tale of people he had known long ago. But she was a clever little girl, and the further he brought the tale towards the present, the more likely she was to guess.

“Happily ever after is an interesting thing, for Elves,” he said, “for our lives are so very long that there is always sorrow, and joy, despair and happiness, one following upon the other. It is much like your life in that way. Even when you have reached your ‘happy ending’ you will still have to live it, and there will be sorrows and joys intertwined.”

“Oh,” said Tilda. “But they were happy?”

“They were,” said Thranduil, “and everything that they had lived through had brought them close, and they had grown to love each other very much. So yes, they were happy.”

“That’s all right, then,” said Tilda, sighing contentedly and then yawning. “Ada, I’m tired. Will you take me home so I can go to bed?”

“Of course I will, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, lifting her to her feet and then standing himself, taking her hand. He walked her back through the streets to the little house she shared with her family, and saw her into her sister’s capable hands; Bard was still talking to Percy and Bain, Sigrid said, about the city’s defences.

“He should be back soon, though, if you want to wait for him,” she said with a smile.

“I believe I will take a walk,” said Thranduil, “for I did not see all of the Lady Tilda’s garden today, and I would like to see how it looks in the moonlight.”

“I’ll send Da to you when he turns up,” said Sigrid. “Come on, Til, up to bed with you.”

“Thank you for the story, Ada,” said Tilda, hugging him tight and then scampering up the stairs.

“You are most welcome, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “Sleep well.”

“I will!” Tilda called from the top of the stairs, and then she was gone.

“Enjoy your walk, Ada,” Sigrid said with a smile. “I’m sure Da won’t be long.”

“I will await him in the gardens,” said Thranduil. “Sleep well, melinettë-nín, and I will see you in the morning.”

Sigrid gave him a hug. “See you in the morning, Ada,” she said, and then she let him go, and he took his leave of her, stepping out into the street and making his way back up the hill towards the lord’s house and Tilda’s garden, to walk under the light of the moon and to wait for his beloved.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Auriel, returning from a visit to Legolas and his Dwarven friend, caught the murmur of voices coming from the salon, one of them Thranduil’s, and made her way there to see who it was. As she drew closer she registered Tilda’s bubbly, enthusiastic tones, and she could not help a smile; like her mother, Tilda was a bright, straightforward ray of sunshine who tended to speak her mind, liked to create gentle mischief, and had the talent for telling Thranduil what he needed to hear and making him listen. 

“So if the not-yet-a-prince _really_ didn’t want to marry the not-really-a-princess, why didn’t he just tell his father?” she was asking as Auriel paused in the doorway, before they noticed her, and Thranduil chuckled softly, indulgently. 

“We have been through this a hundred times, pen-neth,” he said, and Tilda giggled. 

“I know, but it still doesn’t make sense. If _my_ Da wanted me to marry someone I didn’t want to marry, I’d just have told him so and he’d have said, ‘all right, Til, you don’t have to, we’ll find you someone else’. Or he’d have let me choose my own person, and if I didn’t want one it would have been all right. And I was a princess too. Well, sort of.”

“Ah,” said Thranduil, “but your father was never as interested in political alliances as the not-yet-prince’s father was, and certainly not any that involved the marriage of his children against their will. Although if the not-yet-prince had truly, _truly_ objected to the marriage, I am sure that something could have been done. But perhaps the not-yet-prince’s father and the not-quite-princess’s father knew something that they did not yet. In any case, eventually the not-yet-prince, who had had time to think while he kept to himself in his quarters, began to reconsider his opinion of the not-quite-princess, and began to realise that perhaps he admired her, after all.”

Auriel had kept quiet up until that moment, wanting to see where Thranduil took the story, and somewhat amused that Tilda did not seem to have worked out who the characters were, but now she could contain herself no longer. 

“That is not at all how it happened,” she said, and Tilda whipped round, staring at her wide-eyed, although Thranduil just quirked an eyebrow at her and smiled serenely. 

“Wait a moment,” Tilda said. “That was - this story that you’ve been telling me since I was eleven years old, this _fairy story_ , all along, it’s _your_ story?” She looked between them, and the look on her face was an absolute picture, Auriel thought, part shock, part surprise, part absolute outrage. “It was _you_? The prince who was not yet a prince, and the princess who was not really a princess?”

Auriel snorted. “I _was_ a princess, by adoption if not by birth. And that is _not_ how it happened.”

“Well, how _did_ it happen, then?” Tilda demanded, and Auriel laughed. 

“I am sure you have realised by now how very stubborn your Ada can be, about certain things,” she said, and Tilda giggled and nodded, pressing her fingers to her mouth. “He stayed in his quarters for a long time, _sulking_ , and eventually I had had enough. Such an insult, that he would shut himself away from all the attention of the court - which he _loved_ , by the way - in protest at having to marry me! Such an insult, that he disliked me so much! So I went there, and I stood outside the doors, and I gave him a piece of my mind, at the top of my voice, until he opened the door and dragged me inside so that all and sundry could no longer hear me.”

Thranduil sighed loudly and long-sufferingly, but Tilda paid him no mind. “And what happened _then_?”

“I continued to give him a piece of my mind, about how incredibly rude and childish he was being, and eventually he apologised.” Auriel gave Tilda a delighted smile, and Thranduil sighed again, although Auriel could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You wore me down, meleth-nín,” he said. “I thought that perhaps if I apologised to you, you might stop shouting at me.”

“Nonsense,” said Auriel. “You saw sense. You realised just how rude you had been to me. And once you had apologised, and I saw that you were, after all, capable of admitting that you had been in the wrong, occasionally, I grew to admire you a little, that you were able to put your incredible self-importance aside.” She laughed softly. “And particularly, I liked that you did it for _me_. After that, I suppose, it was only a matter of time before I began to see your more attractive qualities.”

“You make me sound quite unpleasant, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, still battling against the smile that wanted to emerge, and Auriel rolled her eyes. 

“You were a jumped-up, stuck-up, self-important little princeling who was not even properly a prince yet, my darling. But you were also exceptionally beautiful, and so I was not quite as poorly disposed towards you as I might otherwise have been. Besides, it is a good thing I came to tell you off, or you might still be in your chambers now, refusing to see me.”

“Given what happened to our home not long afterwards, I think that highly unlikely, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, and Auriel rolled her eyes again.

“I was speaking metaphorically, darling. And anyway, once you had learned to admit your mistakes, you became a great deal more pleasant, and after that I was not nearly so fed up at the idea of having to marry you.”

“You are too kind to me, calan-nín,” said Thranduil, and Tilda giggled again.

“You’re still not very good at admitting when you’re wrong, Ada,” she said, and Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Insolent child,” he said, and the smile really was threatening to break through now. “I seem to remember that you took great pleasure in telling me I was wrong, on a great many occasions.”

“Well, you were,” said Tilda, sticking her tongue out at him. “Sometimes. I was just helping you see what you ought to do instead.”

“And for that I suppose I should thank you, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, and Tilda grinned. 

“Too right you should,” she said. “Anyway, I can’t _believe_ I never worked out that story was about you. Even though you took it right up to Legolas and Tauriel!”

“I am glad you included our children, darling,” said Auriel. “Although I shudder to think how many other inaccuracies you might have been feeding Tilda, all this time. Pen-neth, some time soon you and I are going to sit down together and I am going to tell you the _real_ story of the not-yet-a-prince and the princess who was actually a princess after all.” She laughed. “And I suppose he never told you the end of the story, if he only took it up as far as Legolas and Tauriel, and you had not worked out who it was about.”

“No,” said Tilda, “he always said that they were happy, but that happily ever after isn’t a real thing, which I understand a lot more now than I did then.”

Auriel shook her head. “Indeed. Do you know, I think there is a second part to this tale, pen-neth, one which you know very well. For yes, they were happy, for a long time, but eventually great sorrow came to the King, for his wife was slain in battle, and for long and long he mourned her, and closed himself off from all who were left who loved him, because yes, he had grown wise over the years, but not _that_ wise.” She laughed softly, affectionately, and came to sit on the chaise-longue with them, drawing her feet up underneath her. “But eventually another battle came, and though the King had joined it - or as I have heard it, he _started_ it - because he wanted something from the Dwarves, although he should have learned the lesson of _his_ King, he found himself fighting for other reasons.” 

Thranduil made a noise of protest at this, and Auriel hushed him. “You know full well, darling, exactly what you did, and exactly what your reasons were. And you still should have known better.” She gave him a smile that was equal parts sweetness and steel, and he at least had the grace to look a little bit thoughtful, if not ashamed of himself. “But as I was saying, his reasons soon changed. For he had met a very kind and noble - and handsome - Man, who had become leader of his people through a great catastrophe and by no choice of his own, and after the battle they realised that they loved each other very much. And the Man had three delightful children,” she smiled at Tilda and rested her fingers on her arm for a moment, “two girls and a boy, and they all adopted the King right into the heart of their family and taught him how to love again. And in so doing they brought him back to his own son and his adopted daughter, and for a long time they were happy.” She paused for a moment, for they all knew what was coming next, and she had not lived it as Thranduil and Tilda had. “But sorrow came to the King again,” she said quietly, after a moment or two, “for his new family were mortal, and eventually, one by one, they all had to leave him. And he mourned them greatly, so much that when the time came to leave his home, the only things he brought with him were things that reminded him of them, and of his wife. And even in the Undying Lands he could not find comfort. So his wife gave the Valar a piece of her mind, and they returned the King’s family to him, and they brought him back to life for a second time. And then - well, _then_ they really all did live happily ever after.” She smiled at them both, and Tilda, sniffling, launched herself at her, wrapping her arms around her neck. 

“That’s a good ending, Nana,” she said. “Only it isn’t an ending, because we’re all here together, and we’re going to _stay_ together, for always.”

“Yes, we are, pen-neth,” said Auriel. “We are a family in bond and blood and choice, and nothing is ever going to break it again.”

“I’m glad you got us back, Nana,” Tilda said, pulling back and dabbing at her eyes with the end of her sleeve. “For Ada, obviously, but for us as well. It didn’t feel right, where we were, without Ada and Tauriel and Legolas. Bain had Lotta and the children and the grandchildren, but for me and Sigrid and Da - we had them, obviously, and we had Mam, but it wasn’t right. We weren’t complete.” She sniffled again, and dabbed at her eyes once more. “And now we are. Properly complete.”

Auriel nodded, and patted her shoulder. “You did not have children of your own, did you, or your sister?”

Tilda shook her head. “No. Sigrid was never interested, and I saw too many births to want to put myself through _that_.” 

“Ah,” said Thranduil. “I never liked to ask you. I knew that Sigrid had no interest in that particular kind of love, but I always had the impression that you did, although I did not particularly like to think of it.”

Tilda grinned. “Sometimes. If the right person happened along. But I always, always made sure I had the right herbs to take, so that nothing happened. Besides, I was never overly fond of babies, or children. I wasn’t helping the birthing mothers for the little ones, I was doing it for the women. Couldn’t bear to think of them dying like Mam died.” She shook her head, sharply, and then laughed. “Ada, you were always so prim about it. I don’t think you ever got over thinking of me as the precocious little ten-year-old who climbed on your throne and told you off for being intimidating.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Auriel let out a peal of laughter. “What did you do, pen-neth? His throne? Oh, muin-Tilda-nín, you and I have far more to talk about than inaccuracies in fairy stories. I want to hear everything about your childhood, especially every last time you said something to your Ada that he did not want to hear.”

“She did not stop doing that when she stopped being a child,” said Thranduil, and Auriel laughed even harder.

“I want to hear everything, Tilda. Everything.” 

Tilda laughed too. “You know, we had a saying, in Dale - well, in Lake-town too - that went ‘out of the mouths of babes comes the truth’, because children tend to say the things that adults have the grown-up sense not to. I was definitely one of those children.”

“And as I have said, pen-neth, you did not stop when you became an adult,” said Thranduil, and Tilda giggled and squeezed his hand. 

“I know, Ada. But really, someone had to do it. Da was too busy looking at you like you’d hung the moon, Sigrid was too diplomatic, Bain never thought about anything except his swords and his bow and his axes - well, and Lotta, eventually, once he stopped being such a _boy_ about it - so it was down to me to keep you sensible and stop you dwelling on things.”

“You and I, pen-neth, are going to get on very well indeed,” said Auriel, delightedly. “Between the two of us and your mother, we should be able to keep your Ada from developing any more silly ideas. No, darling, do not argue. You were left to your own devices for far too long, and look where that got you. You are not a King any more, you have no reason to keep up that façade of yours, and you are going to let us all look after you. You are going to be _happy ever after_ , do you hear me?”

She watched, satisfied, as Thranduil nodded, slowly, the smile finally creeping across his face, and she pulled him and Tilda into a hug. Sometimes, she thought, happy endings can indeed be real.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal)  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> meleth-nín: my love  
> calan-nín: my light (literally: my light-of-day)  
> nana: mother (informal)  
> muin-Tilda-nín: my dear Tilda
> 
> Tilda's accident, mentioned at the beginning of this story, takes place in chapter 46 of [My Heart Is An Empty Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197213). And for a theory as to what might have happened to the King's grandson's twin sons, I refer you to chapter 2 of [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious)' wonderful [Those Who Walked Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313247).
> 
> To my eternal shame, I still haven't read the Silmarillion, so my information on Doriath and its subsequent fall comes from the LotR Wikia and its invaluable [Timeline of Arda](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Timeline_of_Arda). Any mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> Also, I have just noticed that this story takes me over 300k words posted to AO3 since June 2020! Good grief. I have about another 70k unposted, so this year has been absolutely unprecedented for me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


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